


When The Rent Is Due, It's Due

by taydev



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930's setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Blood, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, HYDRA Trash Compactor Challenge, Homophobic Language, Hurt No Comfort, Involuntary orgasm, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Oral Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rape, Slurs, Steve Needs a Hug, Violence, he just wanted a nice thing, some fucked up-ness with bucky's 'helpful' approach, well maybe momentarily but pretty much no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 11:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3248855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taydev/pseuds/taydev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a while ago, some folks loitering outside of Mr. Sunny's deli were flapping their mouths about a guy named Ed Flannegan: a resident pimp and thug, who’s said to have a connection with the recent gang-rapes. Steve could’ve sworn Bucky’s name slipped among the gossip, even with his bad ear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When The Rent Is Due, It's Due

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [kaasknot](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kaasknot/) for the beta work and letting me ramble about this over skype.

Steve lost his playbill gig a couple of weeks back and was smacked with an eviction notice yesterday. He’s also just spent ridiculously long hours teaching art at the community centers for a less-than-decent wage, yet he’s toting a larger bag of groceries than usual, since Bucky’s passed him the extra cash he's somehow earning. 

Just a while ago, some folks loitering outside of Mr. Sunny's deli were flapping their mouths about a guy named Ed Flannegan: a resident pimp and thug, who’s said to have a connection with the recent gang-rapes. Steve could’ve sworn Bucky’s name slipped among the gossip, even with his bad ear.

“ _...that Barnes kid gettin’ in with the line-ups…_ "

But they’ve got to be mistaken because Steve knows Bucky wouldn't hang around the likes of that goon. He's a good fella who cares for his family, looks out for his best pal, and keeps well with the dames. A sensible man with a good heart and ain’t nothing he’d do to sour his reputation - but it hasn’t kept Steve from inquiring about the origin of crumpled ones and pocket change. He prays to God Bucky isn’t collecting dirty money to make up for the loss of what was already an incredibly scarce income. He also hopes that Bucky, who’s recently been having a string of late nights, will be home when he gets there, but when he passes the rear of a seedy saloon, he hears panting and the faint sound of smacking flesh echoing from the alley some short steps ahead. 

Heat crawls up his neck. 

He awkwardly tries to be covert about his piqued curiosity, scanning in all directions before sidling toward the edge of the building to take a peek. He sees a couple of guys giving it good to one of the neighborhood fairies. They’ve got him stuffed on both ends and were probably too impatient to get a room. 

Arousal pools low in Steve’s belly and into his cock, but he’s not going to form a habit of quick, silent jerk-offs in secluded back alleys, so he gradually positions the grocery bag over his front and continues to his apartment. 

After spilling over onto a tattered rag and rinsing off the evidence, he places the food in the cupboards, goes to collapse on his bed, and reaches for one of the notebooks on the nightstand. He’s picked the one composed solely of his raunchiest illustrations and after a couple hours of studious sketching Bucky finally arrives at the apartment with a serving of his ma’s home cooking to make up for his tardiness.

“Pot pie,” Bucky says, slamming the door shut and sitting the bag on the makeshift table-tub. He shakes his coat off. “Good and warm too. Have at it.” 

“Smells good,” Steve says, looking up from his notebook before closing and placing it aside. Bucky’s hair is yet again unusually flat and when he settles beside Steve, there’s a faint musk on top of his usual long-hard-day-at-work smell that doesn’t go undetected. Probably a new dame, Steve thinks, but Bucky would’ve shot off at the mouth about her by now, sparing little to no detail.

“What’s got you in so late, Buck?” Steve asks, now perched on the edge of the mattress. 

Bucky’s eyes avert when he cards his fingers through his hair. “Went down to the docks again. Had to help with pick ups since old Spencer had that accident. They’ve been dragging my ass out of the office all week,” he says with a shrug. 

Steve isn’t naive. He knows Bucky miles better than the hellish Brooklyn alleys and always has a hunch when Bucky’s chucking some bull to keep him from questioning further. But he doesn't get into it much, because right now he's famished and heads to the table to eat. 

Bucky grabs Steves notepad and starts flipping through its graphite smeared pages. “You get that illustrator gig? And what’ve you been drawing this time?”

“No,” is Steve’s answer to the first question, while rummaging through the bag, “And what’d I say about nosing through my stuff?” is his retort for the second.

“C’mon, Steve, you know I love your drawings. Some of the best lookers I’ve ever seen were made by your hands,” he says, emitting a teasing whistle while surveying the notebook. He pauses when he discovers Steve’s most recent drawing of an orgy of men. “Stevie!"

Steve marches back to Bucky, heat rising on his stuffed cheeks, and swipes the notebook. “Dammit Bucky, I told ya not to look!” 

“Take it easy. What’s got you into drawing that kind of stuff, anyway? Never told me you were into that sort of thing.” Bucky says, lips curving to a sly grin.

He returns the kitchen with Bucky on his tail and when he settles, Bucky slides into the seat adjacent him, still smirking. “Just felt like it okay?” Steve says, irritation prominent in his tone. “And wipe that silly smile off your mug.”

“I mean...it’s whatever you like. You know me. Us. There are ways we can get around doing this if that’s what you want,” Bucky purrs, and Steve feels his ears grow hot. “But stressing isn’t gonna do that little body of yours any good," he continues, as if Steve’s never withstood anything more detrimental to his health, like all of his maladies, or a thrashing or twenty. "A job’ll come up, but until then I’ll help out wherever I can,” Bucky says, reaching to brush Steve's bangs aside.

"Cool it will ya?" Steve says softly and impassively swats at Bucky’s hand.

Bucky heaves himself from the chair, kicks off his shoes, and flops on the squeaky mattress. “In the mean time, you should at least try getting home early.”

“Why’s that?” Steve asks, dawdling over his food, and heart beating in his ears anticipating the answer he doesn’t exactly want to hear. 

That answer doesn't come. 

“It’s just you’ve been looking kinda beat,” Bucky says, lips arched downward in a facial shrug. 

Steve, not one for forbearance, can’t help opening a Pandora’s box. 

“So, nothing to do with Flannegan and the alley rapes?” he asks and there’s a fleeting modicum of panic in Bucky’s expression that doesn’t go unnoticed. “Heard anything about that?”

“I have,” Bucky replies, seizing the first book he spots on Steve’s dresser. “Well, at least find an alternate way home for a while. Don’t want you getting caught up in that kind of shit, alright?” 

Steve nods, brows furrowed. “Sure, Buck.”

-

Across the street is the infamous St. George Hotel, where even the city’s most honorable men have their go with a local fairy. It’s more discreet than, say the Navy Yard, but the neighborhood is saturated with these sort of establishments that get lively when the sky begins to darken. Steve knows of every one of them even though he’s kept his distance for the most part. It’s really none of his business what the fellas get up to, but he’d be lying if he said he’s never thought about checking it out. Hell, if he had the money he’d probably even pay to simply stand and watch. He’s come close to taking a gander at least a few times whenever the sound of a good fuck escaped the cracked windows or echoed from deep within the narrow passages and made his prick jump. 

Tonight happens to be one of those nights and he worries if he’s a fairy, but quells the thought almost as quickly as it emerges. Steve’s a man and has suffered enough clobbering trying to prove it. 

The autumn wind is unforgiving, but it isn’t that that has Steve’s skin prickling as much as the groaning nearby. He peeks around the buildings corner into the darkened alleyway and spots that no good Flannegan with his cronies, and they’ve got some guy hunched over the railings of the side door steps. Probably a fairy. And he seems to be enjoying it, but Steve knows about the foul shit that happens in these alleys, so he can't be too sure nowadays.

Flannegan has a fist knotted in the fairy’s hair and mercilessly plows into his face, but Steve’s transfixed on the other guy, who’s back is turned. The man is slamming into the fairy’s ass, his dark hair all messy and sweat laden, his ass clenching under his shirt tail with every slap of skin on skin, and it’s all too familiar to Steve. 

There’s another man among the line-up: Carl Ackley, one of those vile, but silent types - who’s standing aside, content with stroking his own red dick at the sight of them, and Steve, as much of a sick burning hatred he has for those assholes, develops the urge to follow his lead. 

There isn't a name in Brooklyn who'd believe that little ol' Steve Rogers would have his trousers open for any reason in these streets, and he wants to keep it that way, he _really_ does, but his dick is hard and ready in the confines of his pants and the man finally comes, groaning with pleasure. Steve adjusts his cock and it’s all it takes for the overly sensitive prick to shoot off underneath the layers of fabric, making sticky sopping mess of it. 

Luckily, his coat is long enough to cover the stain, but he's not so lucky when Carl suddenly meets eyes with him. 

The other guy does up his pants and turns to face Carl, baring his profile to Steve, and everything tapers to shock and his heart thumping hard enough to bust free from his ribs when Carl digs into his own pocket and drops money into the man’s outstretched hand. 

Steve hauls tail to his apartment as fast as his lanky legs and flat feet allows before anyone else could see him, but there’s no doubt in his mind that Carl won’t stay mum about it.

-

Steve’s just finished bathing when the door slams and he’s greeted with an indignant look on Bucky’s face. Well, Steve has every right to be pissed off too, so he glares back at Bucky defiantly, while haphazardly drying himself. Bucky pulls a couple of ones from his coat pocket and tosses them onto the counter. 

“No fucking way am I keeping that,” Steve says, his voice quiet but firm. 

“You’d rather sleep in the goddamn streets instead?” Bucky scoffs, slipping off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt.

Steve’s lips draw into a thin line. He wraps the towel around his waist and swallows. “Bucky, tell me what I heard around town ain’t true.” 

“Jesus, Steve. Does it matter? You still got food and a damn roof over your head,” says Bucky, shaking off his shoe, his gaze piercing. “Besides, you seem to like it.” 

Silence lingers until Bucky’s other shoe drops.

“Anyway, I told you not to be out. It was for your own damn good.”

“You’re a fucking idiot. I can handle my own, Buck,” he says, tone rising, and it only takes two strides for Bucky to stand right in his face. He’s so close that Steve’s flesh prickles when the hem of Bucky’s untucked shirt lightly brushes against his bare stomach, but Steve’s unyielding, feet planted. This isn’t the first verbal clash they’ve had.

“You’re so stubborn you can’t even see what’s good for you,” Bucky says in a shaky rasp, finger poking Steve’s boney chest. 

Amid the anger, Steve’s mesmerized enough by Bucky’s clenching jaw and the beating pulse in his neck that the image of Bucky’s back alley exploit flashes to mind. Steve’s cock begins to swell and he’s fairly confused and a little creeped out about it. 

Bucky retracts his finger as if Steve’s skin burns, then breathes deep. “It’s a temporary thing ‘til you can at least make rent. I know it’s not the smartest I’ve ever done, but I’m just trying to help,” he says. 

Steve’s stubborn pride doesn’t want anyone's help, especially not in the form of pimp money, or whatever kind of money procured from a dirty deed. He bites back a remark, jaw clamped shut - something he rarely does - as Bucky’s gaze trails down Steve’s frail body. 

“It’s cold. Now put something on and go to sleep before you start hacking all night,” he says.

In the bed, their backs are only nearly touching and sleep doesn’t come as fast as Steve would like. He knows Bucky’s awake too, then the bed shifts and sturdy arms are around his tiny waist, back flushed against a warm strong chest, he can practically feel Bucky’s regret in his embrace. The tension incrementally releases enough for them to doze off.

-

Notebook and pencil bag in hand, Steve’s feet are virtually dragging to his apartment after hours at a couple of community centers, plus applying to the WPA. 

Almost two days pass since Bucky hasn’t shown back at the apartment (Steve chalks it up to avoidance) and the previous night was devoid of any action in the alleys. He isn’t sure if there’s any relation between that and Bucky’s disappearing act, but now there's Flannegan and Carl standing at the alley's entrance having a smoke, glaring at Steve with predatory hunger, and obviously trawling for trouble. 

Steve can barely see around the mooks, both of them broad and standing about a foot taller than him, but manages a glimpse of the guys further in, one of them sitting on the steps. Another line-up, but no fairy, by the looks of it, there’s a figure on the steps. Steve’s stuck between wanting to make clear of whether or not it’s Bucky, and just wanting to get the fuck out of dodge. 

"Heya, fairy. Carl here saw you peekin' in on us a while back. Did ya like it?" says Flannegan, puffing out the last of his cigarette, and Carl gives menacing little cackle. “Bet you can take some cock up your pretty little ass too.” He smothers the embering ash with his shoe and his nostrils flare like a bull set to charge.

"Fuck off you sick son of a bitch. I ain't no fairy,” Steve says, venom in his tone, but no bite to dish out the poison, and he when he starts to walk away. Flannegan grabs him by the collar. 

"Now were you thinking that when you were beating off around the corner that night?” he snarls, his dank cigarette breath permeating Steve’s nose. “Better watch who the hell ya talking to. C'mere." He shakes Steve, then practically drags him by the collar. "Gonna make you a perfect fairy." 

Steve scuffles against him. “Let me go!” 

"Hey fellas, you're gonna like this one,” Carl’s announcement echoes in the alley and Steve’s heart might as well have been torn from his body when he sees Bucky sitting anxious on the steps. Bucky stares back at in a flashing moment of stunned silence until he stands and barrels over to Flannegan, seething.

"The fuck you doing, Flannegan?” Bucky says, fist balled so tight into the bastard’s shirt his knuckles whiten. “We had a deal. Leave him out of it."

Flannegan violently pushes Steve and his art supplies fall into a small puddle as he topples into Carl’s grasp. Long fingers claw around the entirety of Steve’s lanky upper arm, while the rest of the mob circle in tight. Steve knows that even with Bucky at his side they can’t all be taken on, but his lack of self-preservation - and the fact that he positively has something to prove - has him swinging his free arm at Carl with a kick to his shin for good measure. It doesn’t render any actual damage to Carl, but it sets him off anyway, and when he punches Steve straight in the schnoz Buck rages, fist connecting with Flannegan’s jaw, nearly dislocating it, and Flannegan, in one swift move, flicks out his blade and cuts Bucky clean across his cheek. 

The tension is palpable and antagonism rises high. Hostile slurs are flung at Bucky, and especially Steve from every direction, right along with Carls mangling blows to his face. 

“That all you got, asshole?” The dig tumbles breathlessly from Steve’s split and bloodied lip. “Fists as delicate as butterfly wings,” and one more punch knocks him hard to the ground. 

Carl rips away at Steve’s blood dotted shirt, then whips out a switchblade to slice his belt. Steve’s pants drop easily, and he’s struggling against Carl as he’s dragged to the stoops and bent over. 

“Don’t make it worse for yourself, little faggot,” he hears Carl sneer as his ass cheeks are forced apart by rough and heavy hands, and before he can even think of a jibe, warm spit is on his hole followed by a thick finger forcing its way into the tight ring of muscle. Steve’s eyes instantly squeeze shut, he grunts in pain, and all these bastards are surrounding him with bulges forming in their pants. 

They’ve made a spectacle out of him. 

To his left, Flannegan shoves Bucky against the wall and the impact makes an audible smack. “Shit,” Bucky winces, and the knife’s cold, stinging point is suddenly pressed against his neck. 

“Look here ya dumb fuck, we knew you nicked a share of the dough this whole time. You got what you wanted, now I get mine. You either gonna join us and fuck him, or I’ll make you a cock sucking bitch before you’re left lying here in a pool of your own blood. What’s it gonna be?” Flannegan growls in Bucky’s face.

With a finger agonizingly rammed up his ass, Steve manages a side glance and catches Bucky surveying him dubiously, as though his thoughts are frantically blowing hot and cold. Steve’s unsure what to make of it, and everything narrows down to pain lancing through his body, like a surge of lightning, as his taut muscle is stretched with a second finger. He stifles the distressed yelp that creeps up his throat. 

"Oh, you got a such a nice little pucker," says Carl, the creepy louse, voice mellow and sinister, but when those fingers glide across Steve’s prostate, his body quivers and cock twitches, despite himself. He wants to barf. He lowers his head, hiding a grimace when the fingers pull negligently fast from his aching hole, as Carls continues flapping his nonsensical trap. “Gotta get you good and ready for the boys,” and belt buckles clinks loose, the noise reverberating in the alley.

“Fuck you,” is all he can manage in his weakened state.

Carl laughs inward. “Well, that’s exactly what I’m about to do to you.” 

Steve hears Carl spit again, but on his own dick, then the intrusion is sudden and forceful. The spit does hardly any good and the dry tugging of skin makes him tear, he knows he’ll bleed. He can’t even bite back a wail at the lance of pain. Carl grunts when he's in balls deep, and it only takes a couple of small thrusts before his pelvis is smacking loud against Steve's ass. 

Carl turns out to be rather talkative when he’s got his dick plunged into Steve. “Fuck, you’re so tight. You’re making it real good for me, faggot,” he says, panting. “But we’ll have that ass wrecked by the end of the night. Like a proper whore.”

Steve’s knees are screaming to lift from the gravelly stoop. Fist ball tight, blunt fingernails digging into the heel of his palm, boney white knuckles turn red, and the first layer of skin peels as they scrape against the concrete stairs. Of all the brawls that left Steve bruised and stuffed into a dumpster, or face broken and abraded by the cement, nothing’s ever been as excruciating as having his insides ripped into.

He chokes back a sob, chest tight as though it were another one of his asthma attacks.

“See, I knew you’d take it good. You take it so good," Carl murmurs, his breath puffing hot and gross at Steve’s nape as he hovers over and drives into him faster, erratically, Steve’s body rocking with the force of the thrusts. “I’m gonna come and you’re gonna take all of it,” and Carl does just that, cock pulsing every warm drop of spunk in Steve’s raw hole til he’s milked dry. “Fuck. You’re about as sweet as a dame,” he breathes, then gradually slips out with a sickening squelch, leaving a trickle of jizz and blood down the back of Steve's thigh. He can hear a few guys jerking off.

Flannegan yanks Bucky from the wall and hauls him over to Steve, the knife no longer touching his skin, but it's still entirely too close and threatening enough for Bucky to refrain from any sudden movement. 

“Look at him,” Flannegan says, but Bucky can’t. He’s already fighting back the well of tears in his eyes. “You tellin’ me you wasn’t gonna share this prize? Hey, one of you hold the skinny bitch,” he orders, and the tallest, thinnest mook from the line-up, dick red, dripping, and perked up from his open zipper, was all too eager to position himself in front of Steve and grab his hair. 

Steve detests every single one of these guys. “You call that a cock? Your girl deserves better, That’s if you even have a girl,” and the insult earns Steve a powerful backhand to the cheek. A tooth is loose. He spits blood.

Carl’s in the middle of tucking himself back in when Flannegan orders him over. He hands Carl the switchblade to keep Bucky in place, then unfastens his own belt in a somewhat frenetic fashion, a shadow of greed on his face like an ill-fitted mask. He’s too keen to have a go. Steve flinches as soon as those meaty, callused hands clutch rough at his narrow waist, the grip unnecessarily harsh, like he’s purposely trying to bruise him black, and his skinny legs are framed tight in Flannegans sturdy ones. He hears the hawking of spit, Flannegan wetting his own cock, then nudging its head at Steve’s twinging hole.

Steve whimpers and a tear stings his eye when his assailant's cock jam’s right in. It’s thicker than Carl’s and splits him wider. Steve mewls at the stretch. 

“Shit, still tight as fuck. But we love breakin’ into some virgin ass,” Flannegan grunts, fucking him savagely. Steve’s cock swings wildly with the impact, and it isn’t long before Flannegan empties his load, cock throbbing hard, flooding Steve’s ass even more. And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, the Tall Thin Mook’s flushed head is no more than an inch from Steve’s nose. He jerks himself furiously then comes hard, warm jets spurting on to his face. 

Steve swallows back bile and Bucky’s hue gets warmer as he helplessly looks on. 

"Here, have our seconds, Barnes," Flannegan taunts, short winded and tucking his softening dick back into his trousers. 

"Fuck you!" Bucky hisses, sweat beads forming over his brow as Carl’s presses the flat of the knife hard beneath his jaw. 

"Heh, get a load of this guy," Flannegan says to the huddle of horny good-for-nothings, while securing his belt. "But you can fuck him. Got him all warmed up for you." His head nods toward Steve. "You'se a man, ain't you?"

Bucky doesn't look Steve in the face, probably too afraid to see the real damage, but briefly gauges the rest of him: his thin feeble body holding itself up on all fours, panting, asshole twitching, and cock hanging half-hard between his legs. Steve notices the bulge in Bucky's pants and how he silently curses himself when it twitches in earnest. 

With a firm grip on his collar, and blade placed close enough to slice his neck in a heartbeat if he wanted, Carl tows Bucky to Steve.

The Tall Thin Mook, fly open but dick already tucked in, still has a scalp-tugging grip on Steve’s hair, but Steve’s hyper-aware of Bucky’s dragging footfalls moving closer, and that he’s winded before he’s even had a go. Bucky is told to unzip. It’s almost a roar in Steve’s ear. Then he’s forced to kneel behind him, and when those familiar hands tentatively land on his ass cheeks, his already weakened limbs might as well be liquid. 

“Hey, let’s see him gag on a dick. Flip him over,” Flannegan says, and Tall Thin Mook crooks Steve’s head, while Bucky’s shaky hands carefully usher his body around to face him on all fours.

Steve doesn’t look up. He only stares at Bucky’s semi hard cock with loose concentration before his nose is shoved into musky pubes.

He opens up and takes Bucky’s swelling shaft into his hot, parched mouth then lift his tongue, the flat of it massaging the veiny underside. Bucky shudders above him when he does and it gets his own dick stiffening. Bucky’s hips jerk and Steve know’s he’s giving every ounce of will not to thrust, but his face is pushed further and the head of Bucky’s cock jabs the back of his throat making him gag. Bucky moans and salty precome slicks Steve’s tongue until his stretched lips are drooling with it and his own spit. 

“Now, fuck him like you would wit’ one of those fancy ladies,” Flannegan says, thoroughly enjoying the after show of getting his own dick wet.

"Hurry it up,” Carls prods, and Steve’s lying on the ground, the edge of the stoop murdering his back.

Devastation hits like a freight train when he’s staring Bucky in the face.

Bucky’s always been shit with emotional concealment and the pall of guilt is written big and bold on his countenance, but Carl’s looming over his shoulder with the blade now at his back and he does what he can to minimize the hurt. “It’s gonna be okay, it’ll be over soon,” he mouths, but it won’t. 

Steve knows it. Bucky knows it. 

“Fuck him good, Barnes. He wants it,” Flannegan jeers from the sideline and prompts an ensuing round of menacing snickers.

Bucky lifts Steve’s knees and parts his quivering thighs, shamefaced throughout, and in this position he scans the bruises blotted around Steve’s hips and waist. 

Steve’s hole is gaping to receive him, but when Bucky’s cock head noses at his tender ass, he blanches at the contact, the realization of what’s happening setting in deep as Bucky enters slow. Steve knows Bucky doesn’t want to physically hurt him any further, but it’s impossible at this point. 

His dick skids steadily over Steve’s puffed and burning flesh. He’s eyeing the clear thread of precome that connects from Steve’s slit to his lower stomach, they trail up to his heaving ribs, then his beaten face, which should look recognizable, Steve thinks, but knows it’s a mess compared to the single bleeding laceration on Bucky’s cheek.

Steve hates this. Bucky, the idiot, stupid enough to choose to go through ridiculously harmful and unlawful lengths for Steve, and look at where it got them. Never in Steve’s wildest web of thoughts did he think he’d suffer a cruel twisted version of something he’s been fantasizing about. He’s not blaming Bucky. At least not fully, considering the knife at his back.

“You’re doing alright, Steve. It’ll be over soon, hang in there,” the gentle whisper flows from Bucky’s lips, his soft, clammy thumbs caress Steve’s sharp hip bones, but his eyes are pressed shut. 

He’s probably willing back tears, refusing to show weakness.

Steve looks down and sees his ass swallowing every inch of Bucky’s glistening, veiny shaft, then his body goes pliant.

“Yeah that’s it, Barnes. Keep him nice and slick for the other guys,” Carl goads him from behind. 

Steve’s ashamed that Buck’s getting sloppy seconds, his dick having to squish through the mess of everyone else’s filthy spunk, but when Bucky’s cock hits that spot, Steve gasps, the sensation of pain and pleasure beginning to blur and the note makes Bucky drop, angling over Steve, their torso’s almost flush. He’s grinding into him with shallow thrusts as he utters apologies and reassurance that it’ll be over quickly, but Steve’s body becomes traitorous. He’s uncontrollably whining and moaning like a whore, his cock is being stimulated by Bucky’s clothed stomach, the precome smearing and leaving a damp spot on the shirt until Steve’s slit dribbles all of its come in the scant space between them, soaking it completely. 

He feels filthy and disgraced in front of the lowest group of scoundrels this town has sprouted in decades.

His hole squeezes around Bucky’s cock, then Bucky’s hips are humping rapidly and moving in a ragged rhythm until he’s groaning and jerking with every spasm of his release, pumping himself dry. For a moment Bucky lies above him, trembling and dazed. Steve feels Bucky go limp in his sopping hole, then languidly slips out with a squelch, leaving hot come to seep down the furrow of Steve’s ass immediately after. 

One guy can’t handle the wait any longer and the line-up is shortened when he shoots thick white streams at the display.

Carl tugs Bucky away from Steve, doesn’t even allow him the dignity to tuck himself in. 

“Alright who’s next? We don’t got all day,” Flannegan says, collecting payment from the remaining men, and in an instant, another set of hands are on him, cock driving inside, assaulting the already pulverized flesh of his leaking rim.

He’s not numb to the pain, but his body is worn, used. His muscles slack like he’s lost the mastery of his limbs, can’t even will a finger up. 

Steve just wants it to be over, but it’s one guy after another. The sky is just about dark when only two are left, and there’s a small wave of relief when one of them, who’s been looking a little scared to even be there, comes from merely having watched enough of the depraved scene, then the last in line shoots faster than a bullet once his head breaches Steve’s abused hole. And when it’s all done, what he feels brings a whole new meaning to the word ‘pain’.

Flannegan gives Bucky a patronizing pat on the back and dips some change into his shirt pocket. “Next time you loot our portion of the cash, he’ll be swallowing all of our cocks, like a real fairy,” Flannegan says, and it’s more of a promise than a threat. 

“I dunno boss, we might have to bust his teeth out before that happens,” Carl points out, chortling as they walk briskly out of the alley, knife still in his hand in case Steve and Bucky decide to make an attempt at retaliation. 

When they disappear around the corner, Bucky staggers to Steve, holding his pants up at the front, and a tear finally falls. 

“Stevie,” Bucky chokes out as he fumbles with Steve’s shirt buttons, trying to fix him up with haste. “I didn’t mean for this--”

“Move. I can do it myself,” Steve rasps with a hint of rancor, but mostly exhaustion, and tries to fasten what few buttons remain.

Bucky doesn’t budge. “Steve, shut up. I’m gonna help you.” He straightens Steve’s clothing the best he can then carefully lifts him from the jizz covered stoops.

Steve wheezes, bearing the stabbing aftermath. His legs and back want to give out on him, his face throbs, and there might as well be a spear lodged into his ribs. He wishes he could ignore the tormenting burn in and around his ass, how it’s oozing sticky come down his leg, and how the spunk is unpleasantly coagulating in his nest of blond curls.

He desperately wants nothing more than a bath, to scrub the street grime, every molecule of vile bodily fluid, every trace of those loathsome phantom touches, and every degrading barb from fetid humid breath, from his skin. He’d wash his brain, erase the memory of today, if he could.

Bucky supports Steve around his waist, and secures his limp arm around his broad shoulders, the shoulders that have always been useful and helpful. They’ve practically carried his battered body an uncountable number of times out of every alley in Brooklyn. 

“I swear, Steve, whatever you need. Fucking scumbags’ll get what’s due to them,” Bucky affirms, and Steve only wants for Bucky’s association with the lowest of the low to discontinue, rent money or not. “Now let’s get you home, get you all cleaned up.” 

Awkward gaits and wobbly legs make a hard slog back, and as they tread through the night, Steve’s fingers accidentally skim over the tiny protrusion of clinking change in Bucky’s chest pocket.

His heart hurts more than anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me in the [trash pile](http://taydev.tumblr.com/) here!


End file.
